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You know how we always hear about studies saying if we don't exercise our brains, we become susceptible to diseases for the aged, such as Alzheimer's. You know that's how they promote brain games like the Nintendo DS Brain Age, and I came close to buying one.

Image from Amazon.com

But my brain couldn't justify the purchase, even though it was for the benefit of said brain. Wow, confuse much? I took to doing crossword puzzles instead which you can buy for a dollar at your local grocery store. Or heck, you can always scavenge for used and discarded newspapers. Read the funnies while you're at it. I hardly read the news because it depresses me. I should, to be informed, but when you come across the fifth Parent Slays Child and Self clipping, it's enough to make you crumple it in disgust. Then you lose the funnies.

How did I get from Alzheimer's to psychotic suicidal people? It's why I need to score extra brain cells.

Word plays, word challenges, word games. All free if you know how to go about it. I know writers are well familiar with word prompts. They help uncork the imagination to let the creative juices flow. (Ha! I've been wanting to use 'creative juices' in a sentence.)

So all you need here is a dictionary. Everybody's got one, right? I have an app in my iPhone that I love: WordBook (it's $1.99 plus tax, but hey, it's a portable dictionary. I use it all the time. Don't make me feel guilty now). It's like any other dictionary out there, except for it gives me a random list of words of the day. Six unrelated words, to be precise. And what I do to keep myself from getting Alzheimer's in the far and distant future is to use all of the generated words to create a scene.

Today, these are the words my reliable iPhone app spewed out for me:

Choppier: marked by abrupt transitions; rough with small waves

Dryness:the condition of not containing or being covered by a liquid (esp. water); moderation in or abstinence from alcohol or drugs; objectivity and detachment

Opprobrium: state of disgrace resulting from public abuse (noun); a state of extreme dishonor; syn. Infamy, obloquy

Inequity: injustice by virtue of not conforming with rules or standards

Mephitis: a poisonous or foul-smellin gas emitted from the earth; a distinctive odor that is offensively unpleasant (noun); syn. Stench, reek, stink

Flatiron: an iron that was heated by placing it on a stove (noun)

And here's what I came up with: (Sorry it's not great but it's impromptu)

*****

In light of the neighbors’ collective complaint about apartment 4B, the sheriff decided to investigate Reverend Hunter’s humble abode. Mephitis was the cause of concern, and in a small town obsessed with the ideology of cleanliness being next to godliness, this was an uproar. The preacher’s opprobrium ranged from the scorned, hated looks of his fold to threats of having his behind smacked with a flatiron.

Sheriff Wallace listened to the preacher’s cries of outrage and inequity at being held in jail for such a simple matter as neglecting one’s personal hygiene. Wasn’t this unconstitutional? Didn’t he, the sheriff, had better things to do than arrest a man of cloth for a harmless deed? For failing in housework? The sheriff tossed in a dirty bundle into the cell. The reverend’s rant became choppier and incoherent. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, and his cheeks sunk.

“This one o’ yours?” said the sheriff with dryness. He proceeded to saw through the fabric and a rotten hand popped out. Lively maggots dripped from its fingertips, like raindrops too full and heavy to stay up in the heavens. Reverend Hunter staggered backwards and fainted.

Sheriff Wallace ordered his men to take away the mangled corpse. There was satisfaction at the sound of the cell door clicking in place.

*******

You up for the challenge? Using the words and their definitions above, what concoction can you come up with? What do you do to keep your brains in tip-top shape?

Sims froze in the doorway, shoulders hunched. He cocked his head back toward the classroom while the clack of his professor’s shoes grew louder. The sound competed with the buzzing in his head. A meaty hand clamped onto Sim’s left shoulder.

“A word, if you please.” The professor’s voice spoke softly, a disarming trait well-known to Sims by now.

Sims tried to swallow but dryness filled his throat and mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

Most of the other fellows trickled out; a few loitered near the window fanning the mephitis outside, chuckling discreetly and obviously trying not to look in the professor’s direction.

Sims straightened his back, made his face impassive and clasped his hands behind his back. The professor sat down behind his desk, eyes calculating every move and breath Sims took. Sims didn’t want to match wits today. Not after yesterday’s fiasco on the football field and the consequent bamboozling of Sloopy Tom over the inequity of the scoring. Sims and Phil toasted their escape late last night, though Sims should have known it took more than a slight of hand to fool the professor. He must suspect something. Why else the opprobrium in the middle of class? Sims felt the Wolf’s gaze from behind and tightened his jaw.

“Sims, you wouldn’t happen to know the cause of the explosion, would you?” the professor asked. The question was a formality.

Sims dared to meet the professor’s gaze, a bit surprised to see concern and amusement reflected back. The older forum said Professor Blake had an eccentric sense of humor, though the instances catalogued over the years grew choppier with retelling. Sims wondered how to cultivate that lurking sense of humor to his advantage, at least long enough to get back to the house to analyze today’s event with Phil.

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I'm a YA writer who loves to read. Also a mom of 3. My life is crazy but always fun. :) I'm a member of The YA Club, a group blog about YA books.
You can also find me blogging at:
http://precylarkins.wordpress.com
Represented by the lovely Julia A. Weber of J. A. Weber Literaturagentur GmbH.
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writercherie@gmail.com